


take me back to the start

by ohmyvalar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/pseuds/ohmyvalar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything that has happened, the Winter Soldier is finally free. Only, since the appearance of a certain Captain in this whole mess, he doesn't even know who he is anymore. </p>
<p>Or, the story of how Steve Rogers finds his Bucky again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After finally watching The Winter Soldier today, I'm suffering from massive feels overload ;_; And this was the product. 
> 
> Warning: contains spoilers for The Winter Soldier!

The dark-haired man stood in front of the exhibit, his shadowed eyes gazing intently at the picture of the man who had once been him. 

The technologically enhanced picture had enlarged the man's features without compromising the quality of it, something the man, who now called himself the Winter Soldier, had come to consider as one of the many improvements in the twenty-first century. 

Not that the Winter Soldier had spent much time thinking about such things, nor cared for them. 

That was what the man would have said and believed, as short as a week ago. Now, however, he wasn't even sure if the 'Winter Soldier' was who he was. 

The dark-haired man's head swiveled, his intense gaze turning to the larger-than-life pictures of the man in that uniform all around the room. The man who had been his mission. The only mission, in fact, as far as the Winter Soldier could remember, that he had failed to complete. Captain America, the world called him, their voices as reverent as Alexander Pierce's had been condescending. 

The blond-haired man with the determined blue eyes, which had glinted with something when they had looked at the Winter Soldier. Steve. 

I'm with you till the end of the line. 

Abruptly, almost violently, the Winter Soldier shook his head, trying to dispel the headache that brought on. Those words, uttered just a week ago by Captain America, had come out of his own mouth too, once. 

But that was a lifetime away. The dark-haired man was no longer the very same man whose picture adorned the exhibit, and neither was the blond-haired man. 

Steve, not Captain America. Captain America was the man in the world-renowned, hailed uniform, the Winter Soldier's last mark. Steve was the blond-haired man under it, the man with blue eyes too old for his age and filled to the brim with the determined gaze of a man who believed in what he was doing. 

The dark-haired man felt that such labels helped keep his memory-recovery-induced headaches at bay, whilst still allowing him to think of the blond-haired man. Just like while he was certain that he was no longer James Barnes, he also could not think of himself as just the Winter Soldier. 

The Winter Soldier was ruthless towards everyone and anyone, and at least lived in the illusion that he knew what he was doing. James Barnes, according to the exhibit that had been held in the honor of his memory, had been a worthy soldier and comrade. 

The dark-haired man couldn't say the same about himself. 

He looked towards the life-sized model of Captain America again, remembering the fight on the last helicarrier, and dragging the man out of the sea, staring hard for a long time at something no one but himself could see. 

It was a long time before the dark-haired man left. 

...........

Walking on the crowded Saturday night streets of the city was something that made the dark-haired man's every hair stand on end, a fear comparable to what he felt whenever Alexander Pierce had brought that dreaded machine near him. 

Pressed in by unsuspecting people on all sides, the Winter Soldier fought hard to not strike out on instinct, instead burrowing his metal arm deeper into his jeans pocket, the long sleeves of his windbreaker shielding the telltale prosthetic from view. 

For as long as he could remember - and he had to admit that that wasn't much to go by, because of the many forcibly removed memories and the gaps they left in his mind - the Winter Soldier had detested blending in crowds. And ironically, that was one skill his job as Hydra's reliable assassin had never required him to master. 

Any sort of confrontation with citizens and civilians that weren't his marks had been simple: the Winter Soldier would be brandishing a weapon, usually a heavy-duty machine gun of some sort, or in some cases, the deadly sharp knives he kept hidden away for close-range combat. Those weapons, in addition to the Winter Soldier's own intimidating aura and outfit, usually ensured that his interactions with them were limited to screaming and running off, both in their own part. 

But the dark-haired man couldn't afford that now. Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. might have destroyed each other in the past week, but while the remaining Hydra members were either lying-low or already dead, S.H.I.E.L.D. would undoubtedly still have members dedicated to hunting down the remaining Hydra loyalists. 

Members including those who had brought down all three of the helicarriers. Including Steve. 

The blond-haired man had promised that he wouldn't fight him, and the dark-haired man believed him. But there was no telling what the man behind his actions, his direct in command, would order, and the Winter Soldier didn't want to know what would happen then- what Steve would do when he had to decide between loyalty and whatever obligation he had towards him. 

The dark-haired man's head started to throb again. No, that wasn't a topic he liked to think about. 

A particularly hard shove from a passerby sent the Winter Soldier snarling involuntarily, eyes turning to steel and hands tightening around the gun in his jeans. It took all he had to just stay there, stock still to all appearances but body coiled and tensed, ready to fight. 

As if sensing the prospective danger, people began to back away from the Winter Soldier, shooting curious looks and wary glances his way. The Winter Soldier's fingers dug hard into his skin as he tried to make himself relax. 

Coldness gripped him, turning his mind and body to stone. He could feel the people's eyes on him; varying from disdain to curiosity to sympathy, their stares freezing the dark-haired man in place. He was afraid that if he moved right then, he would do something the part of him who was no longer quite the Winter Soldier would regret. 

Suddenly, a warm hand landed on his normal arm, firm but not threatening, just warm and there, more of a comfort than restrain. Still, involuntarily, the Winter Soldier's instincts sprang to life, his arm bucking and jerking, trying to get the hand off. 

To his surprise, the hand remained firmly lodged. Men who could physically restrain the Winter Soldier... They were few and far between, and the Winter Soldier could count on hand the ones who had even the slightest possibility of appearing right there. 

Without looking, the dark-haired man already knew who it was, but still felt a shocking thrill run through him as he lifted his head defiantly to meet the clear, blue eyes of the blond-haired man. 

"Bucky," The blond-haired man breathed, his eyes locking with the dark-haired man's as if he were afraid that the man would disappear right in his hold. 

The dark-haired man sucked in a breath, his body tensing, ready to fight, or maybe run, from this one man that he didn't know how to confront anymore. Still, his stood there, unable to tear his eyes away from those blue depths. 

What were the chances that Captain America had stumbled upon him in this huge, yet typical downtown Saturday night crowd? The dark-haired man understood the call of duty, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be caught in the middle, between Captain America's patriotism and his personal obligations. 

Being captured by what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't something the Winter Soldier wanted to experience, and he would fight Steve to that end. Mostly because the Winter Soldier remembered Hydra's painful experimentations and Alexander Pierce's complete disregard of his emotional and mental state of mind in exchange for a complaint, pliable soldier. 

He didn't think S.H.I.E.L.D. would be any better, especially towards someone who had been on Hydra's side, and had the power to hold his own against Captain America. Steve might not agree, but the other members would have no qualms towards experimenting on him. 

A dull twinge went through the dark-haired man's thoughts. Steve might not agree? When had he started thinking of the blond-haired man as someone who would side with him? 

I'm with you till the end of the line. 

You're my friend. 

Steve's other hand reached out, his motions soft with something the Winter Soldier couldn't understand. 

The Winter Soldier's arm twitched, and he lashed out before he could control it. 

The punch caught Steve by surprise, the Winter Soldier's fist hitting him square in the jaw, hard enough to hurt even Captain America. He leaned back, expecting the other man to retaliate, hit him back twice as hard. 

Steve's head was jerked sideways by the force of the Winter Soldier's blow, but when he recovered, his eyes were shaded; his face expressionless. On his face, where a normal person would have a bruise the next day, the spot where the Winter Soldier's blow had connected was already healing. 

Steve's face was a mask as he led the dark-haired man away from the crowd, the hand on his arm still as unthreatening as before. The Winter Soldier went with him; their little tiff had created enough commotion amongst the crowd already, and going somewhere quieter would greatly increase his chances of escaping without revealing his identity to everyone in the vicinity. 

But Steve wasn't leading him to an alleyway, or somewhere quieter and darker where they could resume their fight. Instead, Steve led him towards a more residential area, with the tall flats and lighted stories that the Winter Soldier had sneaked into for jobs, but never to stay in for long. 

Looking at the trimmed shrubs and street lamps decorating the area, the Winter Soldier couldn't begin to imagine why Steve was bringing him here. Why would Captain America risk letting him know where he lived? He briefly considered the idea that this was where the remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. members were staying, but then eliminated it. The flats here weren't big enough for all of them to reside in, and besides, they wouldn't risk all staying together in such a downtown area. 

Steve didn't say a word as he went up the stairs, his arms swinging and pulling the Winter Soldier behind him. 

Steve stopped in front of a door, unlocking it with a key he procured from a pocket in his jacket. The dark-haired man had a flash of déjà vu; in another life, another time, remembered the blond-haired man doing exactly that, with he himself standing behind him, just as he was now. 

Then Steve had opened the door, and was walking right in, openly showing the Winter Soldier his unprotected back. In any other circumstances, with any other man, the dark-haired man would have seen it as a challenge, but all he did was follow Steve into the apartment silently. 

Steve sat down on a chair, silent. In the half-light, his features were dimmed, his expression unreadable. The Winter Soldier stood, awkward for the first time in years, standing in the doorway, not knowing what Steve wanted. 

When Steve finally spoke, his voice was tired and tinged with something that made the dark-haired man feel an unfamiliar pang. 

"Bucky. I'm not going to hurt you." Steve said softly, his voice hushed in the silent room. 

The Winter Soldier stayed silent, but the stubborn light in his eyes told his emotions well enough. 

The dark-haired man watched as Steve's expression changed, shades of hurt, sadness and regret passing over his features before the man smoothened them over. When he raised his head to look at the Winter Soldier, his look was steady. It was the look Captain America wore when he was on a mission. 

The Winter Soldier instinctively sought to react; to tense and to be ready, but that nagging voice in his head, the foreign part of his mind that had been growing in the past week made him pause. 

"I'm not bringing you back to them, not unless you're ready, Bucky." Steve said, and his blue eyes were sincere and sure. 

Maybe it was foolish, trusting someone just because of the look in their eyes, or that serious, solemn expression. But the dark-haired man believed him. He nodded once, his posture finally relaxing, tightly coiled muscles untensing. 

A look of relief passed on Steve's face, clear as day. Maybe he wasn't the only desperate man in the room, then. 

Desperate. It was an emotion that the Winter Soldier had rarely felt, but the dark-haired man was sure that was what he felt right now. That growing part of him, probably suicidical, wanted to be close to the blond-haired man as much as Steve wanted to be with him. And what scared him the most was how right that felt, because he didn't know why. 

Steve rose from his seat and walked closer to the Winter Soldier, his eyes bright with something like hope. He approached the Winter Soldier just a little too fast, and the Winter Soldier's arm tensed when Steve laid a hand on it. 

Close up, the Winter Soldier could see Steve's expression change, the blue eyes going from breathless hope to dark pools of sorrow. The blond head bowed, hiding his eyes from the Winter Soldier as the hand on his metal arm tightened almost uncontrollably, then relaxed again. 

The warmth of Steve's palm was a stark contrast against the cold of the metal arm. Throughout the years, the Winter Soldier had gotten used to the hypersensitivity of his prosthetic arm, the way the lightest touch sent thrumming shivers up his delicate nerves. 

But this touch, this touch that threatened nothing but warmth and comfort, so unlike anything the Winter Soldier had ever felt - this was a novelty, a gift the dark-haired man wanted to savor. A faint memory of a life where such contacts had been taken for granted surfaced in the back of his mind, and the beginnings of a headache throbbed in the back of his head. Without thinking, the Winter Soldier's instinct would have been to strike out and escape from the shockingly intimate contact, but with Steve... 

The dark-haired man only realized his actions when Steve's words came out in a shaky whisper. "Bucky..." The blond-haired man whispered, his deep voice emotional. The dark-haired man could feel the reverberations of the sound in Steve's chest, from where their bodies were connected by him leaning against the blond-haired man. 

They'd been in similar positions before, but that had all been in the process of combat. Without the pounding heartbeat, elevated pulse and adrenaline coursing through his veins, this was different, more about the warmth the contact was bringing than trying to hurt and maim. 

The Winter Soldier was frozen now; this sort of contact was foreign to him, and he couldn't wrap his mind around why Steve was doing this, why he himself was allowing and even enjoying the touch. 

But the other part of the dark-haired man- that man that was a shade of what Bucky Barnes had been -was taking over now, relaxing automatically into the not quite embrace, even wanting to deepen the contact by burrowing himself against Steve. 

Impulsively, the dark-haired man buried his head into the crook of Steve's neck, breathing hard against the skin there and feeling the vibrations as the blond-haired man swallowed hard. 

He could feel Steve struggle with his own mind, his free hand hovering over the dark-haired man's shoulder, not quite touching. He didn't care, just reached around and clutched hard at the Steve's back, the metal fingers digging into the man's skin. It had to hurt, but Steve didn't say a word. 

Against his ear, the dark-haired man heard Steve sigh. Then Steve's fingers were curling around the back of his neck, slow and tentative, as if touching a horse that might buck at the slightest touch. 

The Winter Soldier would have lashed out at that touch against his neck, knowing that Captain America could snap it before he could retaliate if he wanted to. But the dark-haired man only shut his eyes, and enjoyed the touch. 

They stood like that for what seemed to be an age, just another two people in a city full of inhabitants, the dark-haired man shaking in the embrace as Steve held him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone!

The dark-haired man snapped awake to the sound of birds chirping in the distance. For a moment, the Winter Soldier snapped back into place, instantly alert, glancing around attentively, while trying not to appear awake in case there were others in the vicinity. 

Then his eyes landed on the jacket that had been hung across the chair beside the bed, and the past week came rushing back, including the events that had transpired the previous day. The Winter Soldier could feel a massive migraine starting up in his brain already. How could- how could he have let down his guard and done something as uncharacteristic as to break down in anyone's arms, even if it was Steve? 

Once upon a time, the Winter Soldier had classified the people he knew on sight into three categories: His commanding superior, Alexander Pierce, his goons, and his marks. 

Steve Rogers was in a category all of his own. 

A glance at a digital clock by the bedside told the Winter Soldier that it was already seven in the morning; it was late by his standards. The Winter Soldier rarely slept well and always woke up alert and cautious. It was a habit that had saved his skin many times on his missions. 

So to wake up like this was... Unusual. If the dark-haired man didn't think better of Steve, he would suspect that the blond-haired man had drugged him. 

The apartment was a small one; four walls decorated with nothing but plain wallpaper and stacks of books and an assortment of basic household necessities. It didn't seem to hold anything that portrayed Steve's personality. Maybe the blond-haired man didn't spend much time here. The dark-haired man could understand that; he didn't feel like he belonged here either, out of time and out of place, in a city filled with people who knew too little about what he was. 

The Winter Soldier frowned at the thought. What did he know of Captain America's personality? Wincing, he felt the migraine worsening. He couldn't remember ever having a headache that bad, but then there were too many gaps in his memory for him to be sure. 

The couch was empty, but there were signs of it having been slept in. The apartment was small enough that there wasn't a spare guest room, and Steve must've let him have his bedroom. The thought made the dark-haired man feel a strange twinge of emotion in his chest. 

Moving cautiously into the kitchen, the Winter Soldier found it empty, too. So Captain America was out. He frowned, glancing around him. He couldn't comprehend why the blond-haired man could trust him enough to leave him alone here, right in the middle of his apartment in the city. Even if Steve didn't leave any personal or professional effects here... 

The level of trust... The Winter Soldier couldn't understand it. Even if Steve trusted Bucky Barnes enough to do this, how could he trust the Winter Soldier enough to do the same? He had to know that the dark-haired man wasn't the same man who had been his best friend. 

Best friend. Where had that come from?

Pain assaulted the Winter Soldier's head, and he nearly punched a hole into the wall in his effort to regain control over himself. Shards of memories floated around in his pain-jarred mind like pieces of torn paper refusing to be caught and pieced together to form the whole picture, taunting him with a voice that sounded too much like Alexander Pierce. 

He wanted to remember, he really did. But the memories never came back fully, just in pieces at a time that brought on a headache the size of a mountain with them. 

But that was worth it. It would be worth it if he could remember just something, anything, from his old life. The dark-haired man didn't understand why he suddenly cared so much about his past, but that thought was a glimmer of light in the darkness as he fought against the pain to push himself to connect the dots. 

It was there, it was all there in his mind, but every time the dark-haired man reached out, the pieces scattered again, always just out of reach and remembrance. 

The pain felt like it was tearing the dark-haired man's head into two. But it was nothing compared to what Alexander Pierce and Hydra had made him go through, and this was for something the dark haired man wanted. 

At the first touch on his shoulder, the Winter Soldier struck out instinctively, still too lost in the pain and darkness to remember where he was. The cracking sound of his fist connecting with something solid roused him, but not enough. 

Hands were shaking him, and restraining the Winter Soldier's attempts to attack his captor. Snarling, the Winter Soldier reached out with electric speed, and in a practiced motion, tried to wrench the arms holding him aside. 

His eyes opened wide, and all he could see was the sickly bright lit room where Hydra had conducted those experiments, with the scientists and nurses who couldn't be alive all around him, that eerily empty look in their eyes as they stared down at him. 

"Doctor Zola will want to see this," A brown-haired nurse said, jotting something down into a notepad. In another life, Bucky might have found her attractive, but all he could see now was her empty eyes and the demonic smirk that he knew was twisting her lips in a gruesome smile. He could imagine the blood on her delicate, small hands. The memory of the pain came crashing back down, and Bucky screamed, his mouth wide open in a soundless cry for help that never came. 

This isn't real, this isn't real, the dark-haired man thought fervently, but how could he know that? How could he even know for sure, knowing all the things Hydra could do and had done to him? Wiping his memory mercilessly had been the least of their sins. 

'Sins'? It isn't like you haven't done all of those things before, and more. 

The thought struck the dark-haired man like a bullet through his heart. He could be hallucinating all of this, but the knowledge of what he had done would always stay with him, whether in reality or imagination. He'd spent the past week blocking away that path of thought, but now it was too late. He was too deep down in his mind to stop them. 

The dark-haired man dug the fingers of his metal arm deep into his normal arm, with enough strength to cripple it. He couldn't care less; in that long, torturous instant, all he could think of was to stop that thought, and all the painful implications and torrents of guilt it brought. 

Besides, that metal arm had been given to him by them. Hydra, and Doctor Zola, the man with the eyes that shone with that light many mistook for passion but the Winter Soldier knew for as insanity. 

In that moment, the dark-haired man wanted it gone, damn the consequences. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough... The tendrils of pain that shot up the sensitive nerves were good for maintaining his concentration. If he could just- 

"Bucky! BUCKY, LISTEN TO ME!" The voice was a shout in his ear. The Winter Soldier knew that because he could feel the harsh breathing against his skin, but the sound was muffled, echoed, as if the speaker was a million miles away. 

But that voice. Bucky would have known it anywhere, in death, at the end of the world. 

Or an icy chasm, hanging a thousand feet from the huge, gaping jaws of the frozen, unfeeling peaks beyond. A scream, and then falling. 

Bucky remembered falling, that endless moment of flying, the cold air currents like icy blades that slid under his uniform to cut unforgiving marks across his skin. He remembered the acid taste of fear in the back of his mouth, of trying to open his mouth to scream, but nothing coming out. 

And then suddenly, arms were wrapping themselves around his frame, pulling him close. Warmth enveloped him from all sides, fabric brushing his face as the person holding him tugged him ever closer. 

Warmth. The dark-haired man remembered that. He could relax. He was safe. 

The tension went out of him with a long breath, and when the dark-haired man recovered enough to open his eyes, Steve was there, in a shirt that only people in the twenty-first century would wear. He relaxed against the blond-haired man. 

The dark-haired man could smell the sweat on Steve, sticking his shirt tight against his skin. He must have just came back from a morning run. 

"Bucky." Steve's voice was solid, firm, grounding, but as warm as his touches had been. Still were. Bucky might have reached out and hugged Steve back, hard, but the most the Winter Soldier could do was stay in the embrace. 

"What happened?" 

The dark-haired man waited a beat before answering. "I was... Trying to recall. My memories." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears, pathetic. Behind closed lips, his teeth clenched together, painfully hard. 

Steve was quiet for a long moment. Finally, when he spoke, he raised his eyes to meet the Winter Soldier's. "You were having flashbacks?" He asked, and his voice was as quiet as it had been before, with no inflection to it other than a disturbing calm. 

When the dark-haired man looked hard into Steve's eyes, he saw a storm in those blue eyes, unidentifiable emotions warring for control. Then it was gone, and the stable look of determination was back firmly in place. 

The dark-haired man was suddenly angry. Why was Steve hiding his emotions from him? So Captain America could trust him enough to let him stay at his apartment alone, but Steve Rogers couldn't trust him enough to let him in. 

I thought you trusted me enough to let me in. 

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but the Winter Soldier would never let the words slip out. So the dark-haired man lowered his eyes, and kept his silence. 

Steve sighed, like the Winter Soldier was being particularly testing. "You don't have to push yourself, Bucky. I know you want to remember, but we have time." His voice was still that quiet intonation. 

The dark-haired man wanted to shake him, maybe punch him again with his metal arm and shake him out of his self-imposed control. Why did Steve think he was so desperate to regain his memories as quickly as possible? 

It was for Steve, of course. The dark-haired man wanted to know more about himself, yes, but why did he want that? He wanted to remember Steve, what they had done together back in the day, what they had been. 

He didn't want those blue irises to look at him forever with that tinge of sadness that came with knowing too much and pity. 

What was the point of coming back, reclaiming his past as Bucky Barnes without Steve Rogers there with him? The dark-haired man had no relatives here that he knew of- and even if he did, he wouldn't know how to interact with them. They weren't Steve Rogers; what would happen if he lost control around them? 

Besides, the Winter Soldier still had a cold remoteness towards anyone other than Steve, despite the overwhelming guilt he felt for what he must have done. 

The silence hung between them, condemning and heavy. 

"What do you know of what I want?" The dark-haired man finally spat, and the voice of the man who had once been Bucky inside him screamed at the wrongness of it all. But the dark-haired man didn't know how to fix this, how to say it right other than what he actually felt. 

Steve flinched; and wasn't that a sight all by itself. Something to make the great Captain America feel uncomfortable. "I know you, Bucky." 

When he looked up again, the blue eyes were empty, hollow. And that made the Winter Soldier feel even more wary than the controlled gaze had. The dark-haired man wanted to say something more, maybe scream at the blond-haired man until he understood, but he kept quiet. 

Most times the dark-haired man felt like he didn't know how to speak anymore, knew the words but not how to form them to convey his true meaning. 

So he kept silent, his jaw working as he watched Steve turn and walk away, still carefully guarded, but his body language told the Winter Soldier all he needed to know. Steve was disappointed, somehow. 

About what? Because he hadn't replied? Because he couldn't recall anything whole, even after how hard he'd tried? 

Because Steve was disappointed that he still wasn't Bucky, despite having escaped Hydra's sphere of control? That made the dark-haired man feel cold, colder than even the arctic depths of the mountains. What if he never fully remembered? 

Either way, the dark-haired man wasn't going to be just Bucky anymore, not in a long time, maybe not ever. Steve knew that, didn't he? 

...........

Bucky was still standing there, in the exact same position, when Steve returned from his errand. He wasn't angry, hadn't been from the start, but now the fiery rage was back- directed at himself. 

He shouldn't have left Bucky alone, knowing what had happened just in the morning. Bucky could have suffered from another panic attack, or worse, tried to push himself harder because he thought that that was what Steve wanted. 

Guilt surged within Steve, and he walked towards Bucky, hands outstretched to hold the smaller man. 

But Bucky was avoiding his eyes, his body tense as Steve's hands made contact with him. With a sinking feeling, Steve realized that something had passed between them, a barrier formed from too many unspoken words. 

He gazed hard at Bucky, through the head of black hair that fell to shield his eyes from Steve's view. The man didn't move, but nevertheless, Steve could feel the tension coiling in the muscles under his hands. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said softly, trying to reach beyond the facade of the Winter Soldier, and let the words penetrate the man behind it. Only he wasn't sure if it was just a facade anymore. He believed that Bucky was somewhere in there, but he didn't know how deep, and how long it would take for him to resurface. 

Steve just knew that pushing him away, and letting the man before him brood over it alone definitely wasn't the solution. 

So many words, so many sleepless nights spent trying to get them right for Bucky, and here he was, right in front of him, tongue-tied, speechless. 

"Come on, let's get you some sleep." Steve finally said, clapping a hand around Bucky's back lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
